His seemed to be a nature that would alternate between apathetic
indolence and strong craving for excitement. He could go on for days
with a patient, almost silent, round of mechanical occupations
performed well, nigh in his sleep, and then, when once stirred up
became possessed with a vehement restlessness, as if there were still
a little about him of the panther of the wilderness.
At first he awaited his letter from his uncle much more
philosophically than did Alda, but when it tarried still, he became
so eager that he made two journeys to London to meet the mail, and
pestered every one with calculations as to time and space.
The letter came, and was all that every one else had expected. Alfred
Travis had always detested the family into which his nephew had been
thrown by his accident, and the tidings that the heiress had been
rejected for the sake of one of these designing girls could not be
welcome. So he gave notice that nothing more could be expected from
him if his nephew stooped thus low. This, however, did not much
concern Ferdinand. He curled his black moustache, and quietly said
his uncle would not find that game answer.
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